


ArMOUR

by asumiko



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Body Image, Boys In Love, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, Love Confessions, M/M, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Size Difference, Skin fascination, Touch-Starved, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, aesthetic appreciation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 17:49:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20911643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asumiko/pseuds/asumiko
Summary: They have fallen in love and into a relationship, but Peter needs Wade to trust him with his body for them to be able to give each other everything.AKA Peter finds a way to tell Wade that his skin is really fucking pretty.





	ArMOUR

**Author's Note:**

> There is sexual tension, but no actual smut.
> 
> Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction and I don’t own any of the characters from the Marvel Universe.

They were in Wade’s living room having just finished breakfast. It was a routine they’d been establishing over the past few months. Peter came over as Spider-Man at sunset, and off they went to eat dinner on tall rooftops overlooking the city. This was what was most comfortable. Both men had gotten used to who they were in their suits by this point in their lives, and they made themselves vulnerable in other ways to compensate for the emotional armour their secret identities represented.

However, somewhere along the line, Peter had started returning to Deadpool’s flat with him at the end of the night, and sleeping on the sofa. After a few months of this, once their romantic relationship had started blossoming, Peter had transitioned to falling asleep in Wade’s bed, wrapped in his arms. No, not Wade’s arms. Deadpool’s. He always refused to show even a sliver of skin unless he was eating, and it was obvious that even that caused him extreme distress. Perhaps that’s why he talked even faster with his mask up - to reduce the offending flesh and organs to their utilitarian purpose, so that Peter and himself would forget about their visual properties.

Peter was now fully committed to pursuing a romantic relationship with Wade. They had told each other their biggest secrets, and yet their intimacy could not progress beyond the point it had already reached because of this artificial skin barrier. Wade knew what Peter looked like completely naked apart from his underwear, for God’s sake. And the physical side of their relationship was another thing that couldn’t progress, or even commence, without Wade revealing himself.

Whenever Peter tried to explain this to him, Wade would always reply with obscene jokes about kinky roleplays involving many variations of Peter naked and hopeless and a big, masked man doing unspeakable things to him. And that was definitely hot, but only minus the mask and the suit. Wade’s body did _things _to Peter that he didn’t even know himself capable of experiencing. Whenever Deadpool loomed over his small frame, his shoulders wide enough to block out any sunlight, some reptilian instinct in Peter’s brain made him feel in danger from a predator wanting to eat him, hurt him, and that somehow got converted into submissive lust.

Seeing Wade’s muscles glide and flex beneath his suit was the stuff of dreams, and whenever they sat side by side, legs dangling off a ledge, he couldn’t stop himself from noticing that Wade’s thigh was twice as long and as thick as his own. Peter wanted to rub himself off on that thigh until he came all over it. When he realised that Wade’s brand of humour was just another defence mechanism for how deep-seated his self-hatred really was, Peter decided to start sharing these feelings and fantasies with him, hoping to show that he very much wanted to be devirginised by Wade Winston Wilson. But, unfortunately, they always ended up at the same standstill.

“Trust me, baby boy, you only find me hot because of my spectacular build. Or maybe you have a latex fetish, which would definitely explain your own choice in suit. But I can promise you that any sexy thoughts you’re having about me now are going to be replaced by you trying not to puke your guts out and we just can’t have that.” Wade was trying to sound reasonable and lighthearted, but Peter wasn’t having it.

“It’s just your skin, right?”

“Yeah, Petey, _all_ of my skin. I don’t have hair, or eyebrows. I barely have lips. No fingernails or body hair. I’m all cancer-ridden, mangled up skin.” Wade was looking at him through his ever-expressive mask, begging him to understand.

“Describe it to me. The skin.”

That was not what Deadpool was expecting. “Why?” His voice sounded feeble and thin. He’d never spoken for so long and so seriously about his insecurities or how he felt about his post-experimentation body. He usually just made disgust-fuelled jokes about his puke-inducing superpower, or verbally duelled with Weasel to find the most out-there yet accurate descriptors for the monster he was.

“I just don’t know how to explain to you that there is nothing I could see on your skin that would put me off. And, maybe, if you describe it to me and I think about it, you’ll be more reassured that I don’t mind. I’d like to start dating you properly, Wade. But I want to date you, not Deadpool. And I’m not trying to push you into doing anything you’re not ready for. But I equally need you to know that this is kind of a requirement for me for us to have a future.”

His Petey was so sweet. Had such confidence in his own good, in his ability to view Wade as a human being. But Wade had been rendered subhuman a long time ago, and no amount of good will was going to change that. It made tiny little cracks pop in his scarred heart to have someone care about his _feelings_, of all things. Peter cared. He could now die happily. This would probably be the last time his baby boy would look at him with such pure adoration. It was clear that he wasn’t going to let it go, and Wade would fulfil his request, and cherish the memories of the time they’d had together. Perhaps it was better this way.

“It’s like watching the surface of Mars on acid. Every time it gets torn up, it knits back together in new and exciting ways, and you know how I told you I used to have cancer? Before Weapon X. I kinda still do. My body fights it every day. I think that’s where the big craters and indentations come from. It’s quite…dry. Thick. It’s kind of the colour of Mars too. So, yeah, that’s why I only interact with you like V with Eve. Although I guess that’s different, because she also loves him _because_ he is V, the terrorist. Maybe a bit of Stockholm Syndrome too. But yeah, anyway. It's fucked up.”

Peter had never heard Wade sound so quiet or insecure, and it angered him. How dare someone make him hate himself so much? He knew snippets of what had happened to him at Weapon X, and now _that_ made him want to vomit. But how could Peter tell him that not only would he not be repulsed by his skin condition, but would probably even like him more for it?

“Wade. I’ve already seen the bottom half of your face from when we eat together. Or, you know, from when…” Peter had turned scarlet at the memory, which allowed the mercenary to temporarily smirk in pride.

It wasn’t his sexual skills that Wade was insecure about. He let out a long sigh, saying goodbye to the good times he’d had. “Okay, Spidey. Here goes nothing. But don’t you fucking tell me to my face later that you regret asking.” It was impossible to keep the bitterness away from his voice, even though he never wanted to speak to Peter like that again. Maybe he’d never get to speak to him again, full-stop. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to lash out like that. Let me go change into my Wade clothes.”

As Peter waited for his return, he started contemplating the possibilities. What if Wade was right? What if he really didn’t like it? No, those weren’t his own doubts, he was just absorbing Wade’s. This was something Peter had never mentioned to a living soul, but he really had a thing for unusual skin conditions. For any abnormality, really. Freckles, moles, birthmarks, keratosis pilaris, scarring, bruises, burst capillaries, protruding veins, all the way to the really rare stuff. He couldn’t really think of anything he didn’t like, apart from maybe acne and pimples, because he didn’t like wet things. But Wade said his skin was dry. Peter had to have confidence in his assessment that he would like it. In the extremely unlikely event that he didn’t, he’d have to make a decision about whether to be honest about it or not. Even if he didn’t, he didn’t want to break up with Wade. Even if it turned out that he had lied about being okay with it, he wasn’t lying about wanting to make it work. What mattered, at the end of the day, was being with Wade without his armour, all defences down, and he would love him no matter what. All other problems could be overcome.

When Wade came back into the room, he was wearing a thick, black hoodie, washed-out blue jeans, and white socks. Hands in pockets, hood up and face shadowed, there was no instantaneous reveal.

“Please, Wade, come sit next to me.” His whole body language was in protective stance, and his steps were smaller and more tentative than a man his size should’ve been able to take.

With a loud swoosh from the sofa, Wade dropped himself to sink into the cushions, chin to chest. Peter couldn’t stand it. Moving slowly, as to allow him time to protest, he gently placed two fingers against the scarred skin of Wade’s chin to expose his face.

It takes a minute to take it all in, especially after his hood falls off.

His skin is…complex. There is so much going on. So many different shades from red to pink to white. So many different textures, some areas stretched taut, others with excess folds. It does look a bit like Mars. It’s pretty mesmerising.

“Does it look like this everywhere?” Peter asks, softly.

Wade is not looking at him, but through him. Rather than being present, he is living through the bad ending version of the scene over and over again in his mind’s eye. When Peter repeats the question, he manages a weak nod. That’s when he realises that Peter’s fingers are still on his chin.

“You can stop looking if you want. You don’t have to pretend.” He sounds numb.

“Wade, look at me.” Hoping that he isn’t crossing a line, Peter swiftly straddles Wade’s jean-clad thighs, enveloping his neck with both palms, making eye-contact inescapable. “There’s something I haven’t told you. Perhaps I should’ve. I don’t really know how you are going to take it.”

This takes Wade back to his real living room. Peter is very close, touching him. So much touching. He hasn’t been touched in so long. He’s seeing his skin, right? Is Peter going to tell him that’s he’s partially blind?

“First of all, I think you’re really handsome. And I actually have a thing for sunken eyes. So, bone structure, as we established, ten out of ten. And in terms of your skin,” Peter can feel Wade tense underneath him, “I actually really like it. As in, it’s not like I have to bear it or try to ignore it. I actively like it.”

“What are you saying? That you got a skin fetish or something?” Wade’s hands were still in his hoodie’s pockets, and his shoulders were still hunched, but he was slowly emerging from his bad place.

“No, I don’t think so. It’s not like I get off to it. It’s more that I like weird skin stuff. It’s interesting to look at, and I just find it really pretty. I find you really pretty to look at.”

Of all the reactions he could’ve received, this was the most surprising. Peter liked looking at him? Would not just endure it for the rest of their relationship? Or would not leave him for it?

“I don’t really know what to say,” Wade whispered.

“I hope it doesn’t bother you. That I have a thing for it.” Peter looked genuinely concerned.

The sincerity in Peter’s eyes broke the beast’s spell and he was allowed to become a prince once more.

“Bother me? Oh, baby boy, I haven’t quite processed it through my cheese-grater brain yet, but I’m over the moon!” Wade hugged Peter tight tight tight to his chest with his large, scarred hands, feeling grateful for the amazing boy in his arms, promising himself to always cherish this gift. And to force himself to not look the gift horse in the mouth.

“Wade?”

“Mmmyeah?” His face was smashed against the side of his boy’s neck, breathing the scent in deeply to calm down all his built-up nerves. Worked like magic every time.

“I know this might be a bit fast, but can I touch you? Under your clothes.”

“Only if you promise me that if at any point you’re disgusted or you don’t want to do it anymore, you’ll stop.”

“Wade, seriously? I’m hard right now just from the anticipation. Can you not feel it?” And as he said that, he grinded down into Wade’s thigh as he’d always dreamt of doing. It was so large and solid. Delicious. “It’s you who has to tell me if you ever want me to stop. But please, let me try and touch you. Please.”

With a deep breath, Wade nodded his consent. Peter was going to touch him. Over the years, he had been so touch-starved it was painful. On many occasions, he’d lie alone awake at night running his hands over his body, trying to fool his mind into thinking someone loved him enough to touch him. He always had to stop when he himself became repulsed towards his own body, and would end up sleeping fully clothed in his suit so as to not touch himself even by mistake. And now this beautiful boy, skin unblemished, full of youth, was begging to touch him? This better not be a pain-induced dream from getting shot and dumped in some ditch.

“Here, let me.” With trepidation, Peter grabbed the bottom of Wade’s soft hoodie, scrunching it up in his hands. With one last look at his boyfriend, he lifted it up and off his ripped frame. It was a sensory avalanche. The skin on Wade’s face was replicated and multiplied like a Mandelbrot set across his entire body. To get a better look, Peter scooted back from his seat on Wade’s lap, which was definitely the wrong move.

Upon seeing him flinch in shame, Peter slid right back in to envelop his boyfriend in an octopus hug, tightly gripping his back with bare hands. That skin to skin contact was enough to make the mercenary start weeping. The sobs erupted and wouldn’t stop, assembling and dropping from the corner of his eyes. He didn’t even know he could still cry. He hadn’t since Weapon X.

“Hush, it’s okay. Did you know that humans should receive at least eight touches a day to survive?” Wade was shaking, his body finally getting what it needed and deserved. “I’ve got you,” Peter whispered, firmly. He started running his palms in soothing ellipses from shoulders to hips. “And I love you.”

That was apparently the wrong thing to add in a way, as the tears turned into outright cascades wetting Peter’s own clothes.

“How can you love me?” whaled Wade, pouty and congested.

“I just do. I love you and you love me. And that’s that.” And with another howl, the sobbing intensified.

After what seemed like hours, the sun coming up forefronted by a gentle summer breeze, many kisses had been peppered across two beautiful bodies. What had seemed like the end of the world turned into making tea and popcorn to go settle in bed in front of some Peep Show, vulnerably naked like trusting infants. Here they ate and here they slept and here they touched for many years to come.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a tumblr if you wanna chat:
> 
> https://asumikowrites.tumblr.com


End file.
